Shadow of the Sun
by dragonFELL
Summary: She was a leader, a killer, an assassin... a weapon trained to obey. When she loses everything—her rank, her power, her prestige—in one fateful battle, her only hope for salvation lies with a missing lover, long thought dead. Rated T for safety. *Also rather old story*
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I do not own the Warriors series. Names that appear in this work of fanfiction that coincide with those in other works is purely coincidental.

_A/N: I haven't finished any works of fanfiction for years. This is actually a second upload; the first didn't go quite the way I had wanted it to. Now, come hell or high water I shall finish! -shakes fist at lack of motivation- Please review, I live on reading comments and criticism!  
_

**Prologue - The Fallen Wolf  
**

Under the cover of darkness, they could pass the guards like minnows. Their velvet paws made no sound amidst the soft drumming of rain. Some were heavy and broad-shouldered, others were light and lithe; their physiques differed vastly from one cat to the other, yet for all their differences they moved together as one, with one intent only: terror. By the time thunder boomed and lightning cracked overhead—a revealing flash that illuminated the raiders—it was too late.

The leader of the invaders was unafraid and irresistible. Her dark gray tabby fur was slicked back with blood, her claws filmed in viscera, and her sharp teeth brought death to the helpless cats that stood before her cold, silent wrath. And her amber eyes, flashing with arrogance and murderous triumph. No fight could be won with Wolfshadow on the other side—Wolfshadow, the infamous deputy of GloryClan.

Just as she was about to plunge her fangs into the soft throat of an apprentice, the dream ended with a harsh jerk back to reality. In her dream she was young, swift, powerful, bringing death to the weak with an iron paw. Now she was still young, but disillusioned; still swift, yet broken; still powerful, but with no will to exercise that strength. Oh yes, she was still surrounded by death. It was all around her: in the darkness of that hole, the oozing cuts that lay hidden within her fur, and in her dead yellow eyes. No longer would Wolfshadow lead a host of near-invincible warriors, bringing terror to innocent and guilty alike. No longer would she destroy the hopes and dreams of young cats—and thus the world was better served.

She closed her eyes and willed for that dream to return, but to no avail. It was the price for what she had done to so many innocents, yet she couldn't help but cry out inwardly: _I don't deserve this._ Death was what she deserved. Not the clammy, lingering stench that clung to her, nor her festering wounds and waning battle skills. She had lived by no law but the law of power; she had lived by the strength of her limbs and her capacity to kill. Surely she deserved a death in the battlefield, locked in the combat she had enjoyed so much. StarClan would not welcome her into their hallowed ranks—yet anything was better than rotting in this prison, watching helplessly as her reflexes waned with every passing day.

How did things go so wrong?

She was the highest ranked official of GloryClan, deputy to Galestar himself. Galestar, who chose her as his own apprentice, teaching her all the skills of a cold-blooded killer. All the other promising cats had dropped out, but not her. She would not flinch before running her claws across a newborn kit's throat. She was not afraid of incurring StarClan's wrath by destroying a Clan's supplies or assassinating a medicine cat. She took no prisoners; all cats were equal in her eyes, and all cats must die—one way or another. Yet here she was, incarcerated for the crimes of weakness and treason. Soon another tormentor, sent by Galestar, would see to her—reopening newly healed wounds, ripping out tufts of her fur while two other cats held her down.

Was this the punishment for loving Foxwind? Foxwind, her first friend and loyal comrade. After he was killed, she had finally told Galestar: she was bearing Foxwind's kits. Her leader had been beyond furious. The slow torture that ensued killed the kits before they could be born. _How can a killer fall to such a petty thing as love?_ roared Galestar, his claws ripping into her fur.

She did not fight back. What was the point of fighting for survival when Foxwind was no longer at her side?

In her prison, she let out a rasping cough, tasting the blood. She was glad for it. Every droplet of blood she shed drew her closer to death, where the physical suffering would end.

When she opened her eyes, she was no longer in her prison.

She was standing on a moonlit meadow, amidst grass that whispered and swayed in the wind. StarClan surrounded her, their eyes cold and without expression, and she glared back defiantly. It was unexpected, yet she was unsurprised. Did the starry warriors of Silverpelt bring her here, so they could condemn her for her crimes, before flinging her to an afterlife of torment?

But before she would be cast into some dark eternal state of purgatory, she had to see. Had to see his face for the last time, as alive and faithful as he always was. She whirled, searched for that familiar orange muzzle and forest green eyes amongst a sea of unfamiliar silver fur and starlit gazes. Her heart raced as she envisioned him, laughing at her for her pitiful antics. Yet no matter where she looked, only cold strangers looked back.

He was not there.

"Of course he isn't," came another achingly familiar voice. "You know what that means, Wolfshadow."

Of course she did. It was slow at first, but once she grasped it, she staggered with a gasp. Alive? Was that tattered and broken body a lie? "Sableclaw killed him," she rasped, her voice weak with disuse.

"Simply a body. There were many bodies that day," a creamy brown tabby mewed sadly. "My brother killed that cat, him and many others. But StarClan never welcomed Foxwind into its ranks that day. That body was not Foxwind's. Look at yourself, Wolfshadow. Look at what my brother has done to you."

The starry cats parted, and revealed a pool. At first she felt the first flicker of uncertainty—then dismissed it immediately. She was Wolfshadow; she had no experience of _fear_.

Or was she? The cat that stared at her from back out of the pool was weak and unsightly. Ungroomed fur, matted with crusted blood and marred by wounds. "You weren't a killer, Wolfshadow," the StarClan cat murmured. "Foxwind was amongst the cats you saved from death, and your efforts were not in vain. Help him, Wolfshadow, find him and save yourself."

"Where is he?" she demanded as a cool breeze swept over the plain, enveloping her and ruffling her fur. Could it be true?

"Follow the sun, Wolfshadow…"

The heavenly cats seemed to fade before her eyes, and the earth seemed to spin. Just before she opened her eyes to the waking world, she realized, dumbly: she was responsible for the deaths of every single one of those gathered StarClan cats.


	2. Deserter

_A/N: Thank you, reviewers! -clutches onto reviews- I love them. So. Much._

**Chapter 1 - Deserter**

At first she had been at a loss, standing outside her prison in the light of dawn. Behind her were her dead guards, their throats too torn for them to warn any others in the vicinity. She had been pleasantly surprised at the guards' lack of skill; apparently only the expendable warriors—powerful, but with no capacity to actually think on their feet, as elite GloryClan cats were able to—were to be her jailers. If she had wished, she could have retaliated during the torture sessions; one easy flick of her claws could have finished them. Did Galestar know, then, that she wouldn't lift a claw against her tormentors? Was this just an ironic farce to him, having his weakest cats guard his greatest warrior?

All this she dismissed in her mind. She would not stay long. But as she looked at the dawn, appreciating the rising rays of the sun, she wondered—how were she to follow the sun, if it moved across the sky as the day progressed?

A gentle breeze picked up, reminding her of her dream of StarClan. His scent—Foxwind's-wreathed around her, and the breeze carried it away, towards the sunrise. That was where he had gone, Wolfshadow decided. And that was where she would go.

She had run until the sun reached its peak in the peaceful sky, loosening her atrophied muscles, regaining her former strength with every stride. The trees of the forests were thinning out—oaks and maples were slowly replaced by the thinner birch trees, and the undergrowth was growing thicker underpaw. GloryClan had probably never ventured into this part of the forest; the trees were free of the claw-marks that GloryClan typically used to mark their presence in the territory. It was here, where Wolfshadow chanced upon a strange long-bodied cat, lean from hunger. His front right paw was twisted; it looked as if it had been broken, and healed at an unnatural angle.

She slowed her flight when she saw the stranger, fur slightly bristling. The stranger offered no resistance, though; he curled his long body further into himself, cringing. "I don't mean no harm," the tom stammered, his pale blue eyes wide. "This ain't no one's territory, I made sure I wasn't doing no trespassing. I c'n leave if I'm not welcome."

His strange manner of speech confused her, but she understood the gist of it. "You're a rogue," Wolfshadow meowed. It was not a question. He looked like a Clan cat—not GloryClan, of course, too uncertain and afraid for it—but she remembered his physique from somewhere. Perhaps a StreamClan cat? She did not remember the StreamClan cats from her few visits to their camp; they were nomads, travelling up and down one of the rivers as the seasons changed. But the StreamClan camp was not anywhere near here; at least, as far as she remembered...

"No rogue," the stranger growled, puffing out his chest slightly. He tried to hide his deformity, wrapping his thin tail across his paws. "I'm just—just a loner, y'see? Decided that Clan life wasn't for me. I'm a loner, and proud o' it." He seemed curious of her, and his courage grew. "What about you? I don't recognize yer scent."

Wolfshadow drew herself up, knowing without looking that she was no longer the half-dead prisoner living in a hole. "My name is Wolfshadow," she answered. "Formerly of—"

"GloryClan!" the tom squeaked, scrambling backwards, only to trip and fall onto his side. He scrabbled at the undergrowth, trying to regain his awkward footing. "W-what brings _you_ here, Wolfshadow? I-I didn't think GloryClan would be anywhere 'round these parts; else we would have steered clear of here!"

"We?" The tom noticed his mistake, but it was too late. "You're deserters," Wolfshadow realized out loud. "Rebels."

Behind the tom, ferns rustled, and Wolfshadow immediately crouched with claws unsheathed, ready to greet any hostile with a taste of blood. The tom was hysterical; he hissed, "Don't come out!" Frightened squeaks of kits greeted him, and the tom glanced back at Wolfshadow, pleading.

So that was how it was.

These cats—a father and his family—were fleeing not only their birth Clan, but also the tributes that GloryClan demanded of their conquered vassal Clans. Every full moon, emissaries from GloryClan traveled to all of the Clans, demanding one kit from their nursery as tribute. Those who refused to give up that one kit would face the wrath of all GloryClan. Entire Clans had been destroyed for defiance. Everytime she led an attack on a rebellious Clan, Wolfshadow thought them fools. What was the life of one kit, when that one kit's life would spare the lives of two score others? And yet, as she looked at the pitiful StreamClan deserter, she realized why these miserable weaklings were so desperate to protect their young.

No explanation could be offered for it. Why did she submit to Galestar's fury, when she could have defended herself? Why did Foxwind's "death" destroy her to such an extent? Why did these Clans opt for destruction, refusing to offer a scapegoat to save their own lives? _There are no words,_ Wolfshadow decided, _no words to describe the things we do. For love._

The StreamClan cat's meow broke into her reverie. "Please. Innocent kits—you can't harm no innocent kits. You can take me instead!"

_You never enjoyed killing such filth, Foxwind. Would you approve, now?_

Narrowing her amber eyes in contempt, she turned away, towards the east, where the sun would always rise. She made no attempt to excuse herself, all those cats she had murdered in cold blood for their crime of loving. Instead, she turned... and walked away. "Your kind don't concern me," she said icily, not looking back. For a time, the only sound came from her paws as she padded away amidst the thick undergrowth—and yet that silence was broken, by the StreamClan deserter.

"Y-You said 'formerly'. Formerly of GloryClan. Aren't you Galestar's deputy? The best and brightest of GloryClan, they called you, back in my StreamClan days. You destroyed BirchClan six moons ago. W-why spare us?"

_BirchClan. _It was that battle that had spelled her doom. She looked back, and the StreamClan tom's kits had come out of their hiding place, two of them. That, too, brought back memories. Memories of the day she had met Sableclaw—then Sablekit, just a vulnerable black kitten. It was _she_ who created a monster of that small kit, a murderer knowing nothing but the burning desire for revenge.

"I don't know," she answered simply, and continued onwards, towards the sun.


	3. Memories of Another World

_A/N: I seem to be churning these chapters out much faster than anything I've written, besides maybe procrastinated homework. This one is much shorter because I chopped it in half; it's hard for me to tell whether I'm being descriptive or just rambling on and on... Thank you again, all reviewers; just one review motivates me enough to continue. :)_

_A/N 2: Re-uploaded, to fix the Clan name so as to be consistent with future chapters.  
_

**Chapter 2 - Memories of Another World**

_Do you remember me?_ came the snarl, surprisingly venomous from this small tom. He was a short-haired tom, his jet-black fur making it easy for him to approach, unseen, from the shadows. Only his small size revealed his true age. For all his remarkable fighting skills and the hatred in his mew, he could not hide his short, spindly limbs, the underdeveloped muscles that limited his potential. He looked nothing like a warrior—and yet his furious amber eyes commanded respect. _Do you remember what you did to me?_

The black tom was confronting an older gray tabby she-cat. The arrogance showed every aspect of the she-cat: her bemused expression, the way her tail arched behind her, and her condescending reply: _I don't care to remember pathetic scraps like you._

The dreamer, watching the events unfold, shivered from the invisible sidelines. She could not physically feel the gentle rain that pattered gently against the tree foliage overhead, yet she could imagine the droplets soaking into her fur, all the way down to the skin. _Who are these cats_? the dreamer wondered. And why was that tom, who appeared barely eight moons old, filled with such vehement hatred that belied his age?

_My name is Sableclaw!_ The small black tom unsheathed his claws, gleaming white starkly against his dark fur. _Remember my name as you die!_ He pounced, paws outstretched to snag onto her shoulders; the she-cat easily sidestepped, dodging neatly out of his way. But the dreamer could _feel_ the she-cat's surprise at the lithe tom's speed; he seemed to twist in midleap, so that when he landed, he was still facing the she-cat. And with not a heartbeat to lose, he leaped again; this time the she-cat was not so quick. As soon as Sableclaw drew blood, he withdrew to escape her retaliating claw swipe, as quick and mean as his namesake. _You will not walk away from here alive,_ Sableclaw vowed darkly, before the two cats leaped together, meeting each other in the air in a flurry of claws and fangs...

The battle continued, but without the dreamer. She woke with a small gasp, her blue eyes rolling wildly in the darkness of her nest. Where was she? She should be in a warm, open-ceilinged den with other young cats of her age. Not in this dark prison, where her jailor stood watch day and night, unrelenting. He noticed her sharp arrival back into the waking world, narrowing his eyes as she remained in her filthy nest, still gasping for breath.

_What happened to those cats?_ She was no medicine cat apprentice, to receive signs from StarClan, yet that dream was so vivid, so _real_. She didn't mean to think out loud, but in her fear she felt she had to speak to someone, anyone—even if it were her kidnapper. "I-I saw a she-cat," the young dreamer whispered. "S-she was so powerful, I could feel it. And someone wanted to kill her—I didn't know why I was there, or why they were in my dream. It was like—like memories, of another world—"

Her captor rumbled quietly, "Our medicine cat was right. She is coming."

"Who?" The dreamer did not understand why she was kidnapped, nor who these strange cats were. But from time to time she overheard whispers: _she_ was coming, coming to make them the greatest Clan of all. And somehow she—an unextraordinary apprentice of SeaClan—was the key to _her_ arrival. "Who is she?"

"The shadow of the wolf," growled the grizzled guard, "the shadow powerful enough even to destroy the sun. Darkness is what she is, little one, and you will be the one to give her to us."


	4. Secret

**Disclaimer is in the first chapter (prologue). Can't be bothered to put it on every single chapter, mainly because it slips my mind so easily. ...Alright, fine. I don't own Warriors, the story's just a figment of my silly imagination, and if a name in this fanfic is also used in another work-be it fiction or fanfiction-it really is a coincidence.**

_A/N: This may be a poorer chapter. I realized that the story, really, is a very short one. Like, it could seriously be finished in under ten chapters. Yay for less reading (and writing-but you didn't hear that from me)! Thanks, again, to all readers and reviewers; you make my day._**  
**

**Chapter 3 - Secret  
**

Rarely did even GloryClan venture out of the comforting shade of the vast forests that stretched for many days' journeys. The last few trees, lonely vestiges on the outskirts of the sea of green, gave way to hardy shrubs and sandy gravel underpaw. In the distance, Wolfshadow could pick up sounds of a rhythmic sound of repeated crashes—was she near the sea? She had never been deployed to SeaClan before—in fact, she _had_ been preparing to visit SeaClan personally with a small band of warriors, to demand the moon's tribute, that night when Sableclaw confronted her.

She had never allowed that night to bother her conscience—the night she led the devastating raid on BirchClan. They refused to pay for their lives with the life of one kit, and Galestar's orders were final: _erase them._

BirchClan never saw her warriors coming, slipping in like ghosts, blending easily into the shadows. These warriors were not GloryClan by blood—the kits that they kidnapped as part tributes were raised and trained to live and die for GloryClan. Most other commanding officers of Galestar's army were less inclined to trust those who were not born of GloryClan parents—after all, weren't cats only as good as their blood? What could be born from weak warriors, besides weak kits?

She remembered standing atop the huge birch tree, overlooking their camp, her presence not yet detected by those miserable excuses for warriors. They had, of course, expected a raid—no one defied GloryClan for long, and none lived to tell the tale at all. They were hunched in the wet darkness, and Wolfshadow could pick out the leader: a large black tom, standing stalwart in front of his warriors as they peered apprehensively at the camp entrance, expecting the cats to come crashing through. _Fools._ She paced among those thick branches, feeding upon the fear that permeated the entire atmosphere of the camp, relishing the knowledge that _she_ could break that precarious silence of the camp with a simple act of leaping down, or calling out.

And so she did. _Waiting for someone, Ebonystar?_

Back in reality, Wolfshadow shook her head, clearing those images. The past did not frighten her, but they need not burden her now—not yet. Not when she was trespassing into enemy territory, knowing somehow that _this_ Clan was the Clan that those StarClan cats had wanted her to find. Was Foxwind here? He must be. As to why he would be hiding here, she did not know. _Hiding from Galestar?_ She did not want to consider it, yet inevitably the question came: _Hiding from me?_

A loud yowl, an unceremonious stumble and dislodging of sand and gravel. Wolfshadow whirled to the noise, narrowing her eyes as she tried to locate its source. It was a cat, that was for sure—and she ought not be surprised; this _was_ a Clan's hunting grounds. Her instincts screamed at her to hide, to scramble underneath the nearest bush and wait for an opportunity to strike at the strangers whilst their backs were turned—but she stood her ground, letting the world know that she was a trespasser. Silence greeted her defense. "I know you're there," she meowed, trying to tone down the natural hostility in her mew. "I'm not here to steal prey or trespass—I want to speak to you."

"S-she wants to—"

A mild squeak, then a furious snarl of rebuke. "Silence, fool!"

She was slightly amused—was this how pathetic other Clans were? Too clumsy to even sneak up on an intruder properly? Even so, this sort of inadequacy was unheard of in the forest Clans. No wonder Galestar never took much interest in SeaClan kits—these seaside "warriors" could not possibly compare to the naturally superior forest cats. Her beliefs were further reinforced when the SeaClan cats stepped out of a nearby bush. They did have the standard muscular physique of Clan cats—perhaps due to their practice of swimming and hunting in the ocean—but they seemed as awkward as fish on land; their clumsy pawsteps could be heard for distances all around, and Wolfshadow could not remember encountering any of their scent markers as she ventured further into their territory.

The leader of their patrol, a light gray tabby tom, began: "We don't need to worry about that. We, we know who you are. You're Wolfshadow. Deputy of Galestar."

She had not expected such a response. "How?" she demanded, her claws sliding out involuntarily.

"The ginger-furred warrior told us. He came from the western lands, a GloryClan warrior—or rather, he used to be." He lowered his voice, then continued: "Foxwind."

Wolfshadow felt herself swaying—but she forced herself to look at the patrol leader's eyes, not betraying the feelings that were starting to rise up—those old memories. "He's alive?"

The tom hesitated, and Wolfshadow wanted to rip into his fur to choke the answer out of him—but no, there were too many questions. "Y-yes, of course. He told us—he told our leader, and medicine cat, that _you_ would come, to save us."

She had heard enough. "_Save_ you? Didn't Foxwind tell your dear Clan already? I'm a killer." She bared her teeth, and the SeaClan cats took hasty steps backwards. "What has he told you, that old fox? Why did he come here?"

"Only our medicine cat knows, Wolfshadow." The patrol leader's legs were now slightly trembling—but he mustered the courage to turn his back to her, waving with his tail to signal to her to follow. "Please, we'll guide you to our camp. You'll find your friend there." With that he bounded away, with his other two warriors trailing after. Only an apprentice remained at Wolfshadow's side—was he too stupid to recognize fear, or too young to know what fear was?

The young cat, probably newly apprenticed, leaned up on the tips of his paws to whisper into her ear: "I know a secret about you. Foxwind told us stories all about GloryClan."

"Then you know what I've done," Wolfshadow hissed, shoving the small cat aside. He stumbled backwards with a squeak, but still there was no fear in those round blue eyes. _Is that the way of it, Foxwind?_ she raged bitterly. _Telling these cats tales to create me into more of a monster than I already am? Very well, then._ The apprentice scrabbled at the gravel, following the others to the camp, and Wolfshadow bounded after him, ignoring the anticipation of finding him. Even so, however, she could not bring herself to desecrate Foxwind's memory by accusing him of running away, or even worse, running away without telling her. Despair was a strange, unfamiliar feeling, and yet it consumed her as she followed the SeaClan patrol to their camp, where Foxwind would be. She had been waiting a season, in Galestar's prison, for him to return to her. It did not mean he would be waiting for _her_._  
_


	5. Wolven Fury

**Chapter 4 – Wolven Fury**

Wolfshadow stood on the shore, staring dumbly at the SeaClan cats that plunged headfirst into the salty waters, their paws paddling madly to fight against frolicking waves that struggled to push the cats back onto land. This explained the strength that was suggested in the SeaClan warriors' legs, if not their skill as fighters—but as she dipped a tentative paw into the freezing cold, a grudging respect for these cats welled up within her. An island could be seen, a meager rock not too far from the shore, that served as the site of their camp. To swim and fight these pushing and pulling waves every single day, just to leave the camp to find prey on land… Wolfshadow closed her eyes, trying not to reveal her dislike of water. _If Foxwind could swim to their camp, then so can I._ From a slow trot she broke into a powerful leap that landed her in the chaos.

As soon as her head broke the surface, another wave crashed from overhead, sending her back into the murk. The next time, she was quicker—she was able to take one gasp of air before she went under. The SeaClan cats did not notice her struggle; they swam on, oblivious to the drowning Wolfshadow. If anything, that only added to her fury. She concentrated on them—they were anticipating each wave, slackening their muscles when the sea pulled them forward, and bracing them for impact when the sea sought to push them away. She struggled forward, trying to follow their example; she was glad for the rigorous swimming training that she was exposed to, as a young cat of GloryClan.

The final waves dumped her, ragged and waterlogged, onto the gravelly shore of the island. The other SeaClan cats, having reached there first, seemed to mark her progress with approval and even respect. Wolfshadow wondered why—had not Foxwind also made the strenuous journey through the sea? She shook her fur, spraying the salt water in all directions. The patrol leader nodded, and they were running again, in a straight beeline for the camp.

Gazing at the foliage that covered the island, Wolfshadow understood why SeaClan would choose to nest here. Not only would outsiders find it hard to ambush them in their camp, surrounded by death in the form of crashing waters—it was, in many ways, more attractive than their territory on the mainland. Large forest trees were abundant here, with the familiar springy moss underpaw and the usual forest undergrowth carpeting the ground. This _was_ the forest, only better protected than any Clan cat could wish for.

Galestar would scoff, she knew. _Cowards for hiding on a rock, rather than training to fend off real invaders._ He was not wrong in his judgment of SeaClan fighting capabilities. Yet regardless of his opinions, he would understand the value of the island, as did Wolfshadow, surveying the land as any potential raider would. As she had always been trained to do.

_Hey!_ The voice echoed in her mind, a whisper from a past as murky as the sandy waters near the seashore. _Why are you walking around like that?_ The scene rebuilt itself, set in the SeaClan forests that they were now traversing, and she could almost visualize Foxwind—a young apprentice, back then, without the muscular build of his later years—stepping out of the ferns, as gullible as prey leaping out to meet a predator. She had been on a training assignment, she remembered, to observe the unfamiliar territory for a short time, registering all possible hiding spots for ambushers—as well as possible safe-routes, where a cat might flee to avoid such an ambush. After the time interval, she had to run the course again—only this time, the territory would be bristling with trained GloryClan warriors, waiting to spring. It was one of Galestar's personal favorite training methods, to teach young cats to observe an unfamiliar territory with a critical eye, noting landmarks and the like, as well as to be prepared for rather obvious guerrilla attacks.

And this brazen ginger-furred fool jarred her concentration, with the audacity to interrupt her training session—_she_, the prized apprentice of Galestar himself, gleaming with potential to be one of the greatest GloryClan warriors to be created. He was, however, the first of the 'other' apprentices she had ever met. Galestar did not believe in exposing his precious protege to the lesser cats.

And he was her first friend, the only connection she had in the outside world—the world that surely existed, outside of her training underneath Galestar.

Before she realized that the SeaClan cats had stopped, she was in their camp.

She could tell, immediately, that they knew who she was—just as these SeaClan cats had claimed to have known her identity. All activity halted, heads jerked to view this gray stranger, and their eyes held not fear, but _awe_. Her sharp ears picked up the whispers that passed from cat to cat, apprentice to apprentice: _Wolfshadow_.

"Wolfshadow!"

It was not, to her dismay, Foxwind. The caller was a rather young tom—only a few moons older than her, it seemed—with a solid dark gray pelt that was free of any usual blemishes that might adorn a warrior leader's body. "We've been waiting," the cat continued, his pale yellow eyes gleaming excitedly. "Nightfur—he was right, you are here!"

She did not ask him who this _Nightfur_ was. "Where is he?" Sidelong glances told her that the SeaClan cats were bothered by her rudeness in not asking the young tom's name. Let them think whatever they wish—she had never let such trifling opinions of her character bother her, not much.

The tom's eyes grew a shade darker, and his face grew serious before sighing, "I am afraid the brave cat is not with us. He was here just two suns past—" He noticed the change in her expression, the anger that was reflected in her dark amber eyes. "But you must hear us out!" he cried desperately. "I'm Stonestar, leader of SeaClan," he explained hastily. "Please—you need to see our medicine cat. He—Foxwind tried to help us, and..."

There it was again—_help_. And Foxwind was trying to help them? For what cause? To what benefit?

Did there really have to be a logical motive behind helping those who need assistance? Was her reasoning just another testament to her own inability to empathize with others? _Foxwind was always the kinder warrior._ _A noble fool—noble, yes, but a fool all the same._ "Is he dead?" Stonestar looked away, as if ashamed. _Ashamed of what?_ she wondered.

"He is not. He was captured by our enemies, the ones he had helped us fight for the past several suns. Two suns ago, they captured him—and their leader, Nightfur, claimed that a shadow would come, the wolf's shadow, to reclaim him. They want you, these strange enemies of ours, for reasons we cannot fathom." The look in his eyes bothered her. He was a Clan leader—a young one, to be sure, and probably inexperienced in his new position. But regardless, he was, in the eyes of StarClan, the most powerful cat in his Clan. So how could he allow such desperation creep into his eyes and contaminate his words? "Again, please—our medicine cat will tell you more. Foxwind spent the most time with him, before his unfortunate departure."

She should have been furious. She was, after all, always furious. Furious at ineptitude—these SeaClan cowards who would not last a heartbeat against GloryClan warriors. Furious at their demand for her help—as if she owed anything to them. At Foxwind, for letting her believe that he was dead. At StarClan, for leading her here on what seemed to be a wild, impossible chase. And she was—but no, not by this revelation. She was just—tired, of the endless deception that so characterized her role as GloryClan deputy. Was she growing old, desiring the peace and quiet of—

She chuckled unexpectedly. _No._ She was Wolfshadow, and she would never accept defeat willingly, not again. She nodded to Stonestar, and the leader brightened with hope. "Tell me your pitiful sob story," she growled quietly, "and if _helping_ you leads me to Foxwind, then by StarClan, I will do it."


	6. Re: Secret

_A/N: Again, and again, and again: Thank you for reading, and much love if you go the extra step to review and comment. :)_

**Chapter 5 - Re: Secret**

A small band of kits romped and scuffled across their path to the medicine cat's den, squeaking with delight, oblivious to Wolfshadow's evident distaste. She hated kits—loud, noisy, innocent, too precious to behold. And these were the very sort of kits that GloryClan would kidnap to train as their own.

Again the memories struck, unbidden. _I want to go home!_ the cream tabby kit wailed, as she hung from Foxwind's jaws by her scruff, _Take me back! Daddy's hurt!_

The racket was insufferable—and Wolfshadow had growled to Foxwind, _Leave her here and go on ahead._ Foxwind nodded obediently, and the others trailed him into the thick ferns; she and the kit were now alone. _What's your name?_

The kit had looked up at her, the yellow eyes hardening. _You hurtDaddy,_ she whimpered. _I don't want to go with you! I want Mommy, and Sablekit!_ The kit had cringed away when Wolfshadow leaned close, her amber eyes narrowed dangerously.

_Do you want to know a secret?_

That was who she was. A destroyer of families and lives. Of innocence. That kit would never cry again for as long as she lived.

The medicine cat was an old one, and looked far more fit to lead a Clan than the young Stonestar. His dark brown tabby fur, white streaks running like rivers through his pelt to reveal his years. The pale orange eyes seemed to brighten to life like fire when she entered the small alcove that served as the medicine cat's den. "You are finally here," the tom rasped, looking up from his supply of herbs. "I have been waiting."

Stonestar had, on the way to the den, referred to the medicine cat as Brinewhisker. Wolfshadow had her own form of respect for GloryClan's healers, but did not hold much stock in the lesser Clans' medicine cats and their alleged connection with StarClan. Even so, this Brinewhisker appeared to have the most information about Foxwind. Foxwind had been, after all, far more accepting of the lesser Clans' customs. To get to him, she had to get through Brinewhisker first...

She dipped her head, hiding her inner complaints at bowing to a healer, a cat who could not fight. "Brinewhisker," she meowed respectfully. "Stonestar tells me that Foxwind spoke to you about me before he was... captured."

Brinewhisker turned from his herbs, slowly stretching his stiff old joints. "Yes, the former GloryClan warrior." Wolfshadow's ear twitched at the word _former_. "He told the Clan many tales of our oppressors—Galestar and his ilk. And he told us of you—Wolfshadow."

She didn't care what sorts of tales Foxwind saw fit to spread about SeaClan. "Just tell me what happened to him."

The old medicine cat at her strangely—she knew that Brinewhisker expected her to question her about whatever Foxwind may have said about her. "About five suns before Foxwind reached us, a band of rogues kidnapped our youngest apprentice. Their leader, Nightfur, would not accept any... any agreement for her safe return. When Foxwind found us, he agreed to help us use force to bring our apprentice back."

She did not ask who the apprentice was. "And he was caught? How?"

"They outnumbered us, and well... we are not a warring Clan, Wolfshadow." The honesty in his mew surprised her, this sudden humble defeat. His strangely fierce eyes told her that he was not suited to defeat; if anything, this medicine cat's quiet pride made him a far more suitable leader than the young Stonestar, who had left the den to guard the entrance. "We are sheltered here in this island, with nothing to do with the outside. Even GloryClan rarely go out of their way to swim through the waves that protect our camp. Just a generation ago we were powerful—but not anymore. Even warriors can grow soft. And we have grown too weak to protect one of our own. That is why we ask you for your help, Wolfshadow," he growled, staring at her in the eyes. "I understand you want nothing to do with us, and that you only seek to reunite with Foxwind. Very well. We will tell you where the rogues have taken him. All we ask is that you grant us a small boon—to return our young cat safely, for she is very, very important to us."

Wolfshadow knew she would accept the offer, but all the same her contempt shone through. "Very important to you. Not important to me."

Again, to her surprise the old cat laughed—a low, rasping cough that racked his sides, his orange eyes gleaming. "You may be surprised, Wolfshadow. You may be surprised."

More secrets. It did not matter—or so she thought. She was, after all, a foremost expert on the subject of _secrets_.

_A secret?_ The young cream tabby, Ferretstripe—no, Ferret_kit—_looked up at her in mistrust, yet the young kit's curiosity could not resist. Wolfshadow had leaned even closer, and this time the kit did not pull away.

_If you come with me... _In a whisper too faint to reach the ears of any other cat, Wolfshadow murmured: _I'll teach you how to kill Galestar._


	7. Glory's End

_A/N: Been a while since I updated-didn't really know how to progress with this chapter. Sorry if the long writing period has resulted in a poor chapter. :( As for the SeaClan deputy's name... I know, it's a terrible name that's not canon in anyway (I mean, maybe -fall, but -fell as a suffix!) but I really wanted to poke in my old obsession with Kingdom Hearts: Birth by Sleep. Aha. Thanks for reading!_

**Chapter 6 - Glory's End**

_Follow the sun…_

Wolfshadow bristled, moved to fury by her helplessness. "I have!" she cried out to the stars, cold twinkling lights that refused to illuminate the darkness surrounding her. "I've followed the sun here—what more do you want?"

Ferretstripe's scent wrapped around her, and Wolfshadow fancied she glimpsed the familiar cream tabby fur amongst the ferns. _Follow the sun_, she whispered again, ignoring Wolfshadow's frustration. _The sun_.

The sun was not here, however—only the bright full moon illuminated the night, its rays fighting against think clouds to reach the earth. She had stepped out of the sleeping SeaClan camp for a breath of freedom amongst the familiarity of the open trees. When the sun rose, she and a few Seaclan warriors would venture into rogue territory on the mainland. She flexed her claws, remembering: she had always been proud of her prowess on the battlefield. But she _had_ nearly been defeated, by that young black tom who called himself Sableclaw.

Sableclaw—the skinny BirchClan cat, hardly older than the average apprentice yet sporting a full-grown warrior's name—had seemed to anticipate all of the traditional GloryClan moves, even the far more advanced ones that were known only to the few elite. It was not long before Wolfshadow realized that no traditional GloryClan warrior could stand a chance against Sableclaw. _You should have killed me when I was a kit,_ he had crowed during their battle, as the two cats parted for a brief respite during a breathless battle. _You forfeit your life the day you let me live._

Ferretstripe—Sableclaw's sister, the kit that Foxwind and Wolfshadow had taken after slaughtering BirchClan—had interrupted the fight. Wolfshadow knew—Sableclaw recognized her. The battle had frozen as grief-stricken brother and kidnapped sister reunited, their amber eyes glowing in unison. _Ferretkit?_ Sableclaw had seemed a kit again, his cold amber eyes losing their hardness. _You're alive?_ The meeting soured when he realized: _They made you their own. You're GloryClan now, aren't you, dear sister?_

"Shouldn't you be resting for tomorrow?"

The meow was not a remnant of her memories; it was alive, cutting through the gloom of her reverie. She whirled, crouching and unsheathing her claws simultaneously, ready to pounce—but no, it was no enemy; she recognized SeaClan's deputy, Rainfell. She narrowed her eyes, miffed by the sudden approach, while berating herself silently for not detecting his presence earlier. "You needn't concern yourself," she answered stiffly.

The dark gray tabby—his fur resembled her own, but for his white underbelly and paws—shrugged and stretched himself lazily, purring. "I concern myself with everything related to my Clan. Even the great Wolfshadow may stumble during tomorrow's mission without a good night's sleep."

The audacity of this young warrior appalled her. No one had ever questioned her abilities. _Ever_. She did not sheath her claws, imagining the pleasure that would amount from raking them across his insolent blue eyes. "I don't think you've heard enough about me from Foxwind," she meowed carefully, willing him to back away. "I never _stumble._" She spat out the word, her lip curling in disgust.

"Oh, I've heard much. I doubt you're as great as they all say."

_Now_ he had her attention.

The brash deputy continued, inspecting his claws, oblivious to the shock reflected in Wolfshadow's eyes: "GloryClan haven't visited us in the past few moons. Did they realize that they rather let us remain free than risk getting their paws wet—"

She pounced without warning, without even planning—a low, darting leap that sent her into a head-on collision with his chest, leaving him reeling in confusion. The daze lasted only half a hearbeat, however; as if he had expected the assault, the offending tom slipped into his own battle crouch, his teeth bared in a taunting snarl. She kept on the offensive, feiting a jab to his muzzle while reaching in to grab his forepaw with her jaws; if Rainfell had not jerked backwards, she would have crunched through fur, flesh, and bone mercilessly. Rainfell's own attacks were made in earnest, but far too slow; he was by far the larger cat, but his body was suited to the slow rhythms of the sea, not her quick nips and jabs.

"You couldn't possibly have imagined," she hissed through clenched teeth as she held him down with a paw pressed to his throat, "that you could beat me."

Rainfell managed a weak chuckle, and it only infuriated her further. "Defeating you was not my purpose," he choked out, refusing to wipe the smirk off his muzzle. "I had to know—had to know if the rumors were true."

"And?"

"You don't even know what the rumors say."

Wolfshadow spat to the side. "I know I'm a killer. I've blasphemed in the face of StarClan. I don't need a bunch of gutless scraps to tell me that." The smirk was still on his face. "I've killed cats, and better cats than you," she snarled into his face, "leaders, medicine cats, _kits_." She dug her claws into his fur, ignoring the small pricks of blood that welled out. "Why would you trust me with this cat's rescue?" she demanded angrily. She wanted to cry out, _Why don't you fear me?_

"You've saved cats before, haven't you?" The reply was unexpected.

"A lie."

Rainfell seemed not to notice the claws that were only inches away from embedding themselves into his jugular. "Yes, but which is the lie?" Before she could retort, his sparkling eyes finally dimmed and his mew grew serious. "We may not be GloryClan warriors, but we can see through lies. And you lie when you stand there, telling me that you've never spared cats' lives before."

_He knew._ She did not reply—she didn't even ask him _how_—but he knew. How many knew? _All of SeaClan._

With a glare she released her hold on him, and he slipped out, sleek as a fish. "A true warrior of GloryClan would kill me for my insolence," Rainfell reprimanded.

"Shut up and get out before I _do_ kill you," she hissed. She didn't need to worsen her standing with SeaClan—not until she could finally find Foxwind. The impudent SeaClan deputy finally complied, disappearing towards the direction of the camp, leaving her alone—alone again, with her memories.

_You don't understand what she's done for us,_ Ferretstripe had mewed sadly, bitterly, as she faced her brother. _What she's done for _you.

_Murder is what she's done for us!_ Sableclaw howled. He had seemed to soften at the sight of his long-lost sister, but at mention of Wolfshadow the rage returned to his glittering amber eyes, burning amongst the black of his fur.

_Don't tell him,_ she recalled snarling to Ferretstripe. How could she? For a moment she had felt despair, as she faced this demon of a cat, driven by nothing but the hunger for vengeance that could only be satisfied by her death. How could she tell this mad cat that she spared his life that fateful night for a reason?

Another day, another age. She and Foxwind were at the GloryClan camp—or rather, one of the many GloryClan camps; one average Clan camp could not possibly contain its entirety. _Why did you let Sablekit live?_ Foxwind asked, just days after Wolfshadow had ordered the destruction of BirchClan. Only Sablekit and his shattered mother had been allowed their lives. _He'll come after you, you know,_ Foxwind chided—not scolding, but friendly, as he had always been. _After you left his Clan in shambles. His mother seemed to have lost her wits, as well._

_Because I know he's the one._ She had been unusually sentimental, optimistic, as she watched another senior warrior with a line of marching apprentices following close behind in perfect order. So perfect, so standardized. And she would destroy it all.

_Sablekit will be the one to help us destroy GloryClan._


	8. Rogues of Honor

_A/N: Yeah, this story _has_ to be short! I demand it! Therefore I'll rattle off chapters. I'm so tempted to reveal more on Fox's and Wolf's parents in this fanfic, but if I ever write a standalone fanfic exploring their time as apprentices, such a twist would better be saved for that one. But then I have to write _another_ fic, and I'm a lazy arse… -chews nails-_

**Chapter 7 – Rogues of Honor**

_Who are you?_

_I'm Foxpaw. You're another apprentice, aren't you? I haven't seen you before—which mentor-group are you assigned to? I'm in Stormclaw's group._

_Galestar's my mentor._

The patrol was now at the very heart of SeaClan territory, at the foot of a rising hill; trees, skinny yet plentiful, blocked their view of the hill's crest. Rainfell had explained that this had been the former SeaClan camp, before the last generation moved the camp to the isolated island. It was one of the only patches of SeaClan territory, besides the island, that consisted of more than just pebbles and brittle hedges. "We've never tried to return here, ever since Nightfur and his rogues took it over," Rainfell continued. "It's impossible to climb the hill without being seen by a sentry."

Wolfshadow might have argued for a frontal raid regardless—it had always been, after all, her custom to trump all expectations and barge in through the front door. No one needed to remind her, however, that these were not the warriors that she would normally utilize for such a bold move. "We can wait for the cover of night," she suggested quietly. "How long has it been since you last tangled with the rogues?"

"Not since they took Foxwind hostage."

So it had been just three suns ago. "They won't be expecting another attack so soon," Wolfshadow decided. "And if they do, they won't know that we mean to bring her back." She still did not know who "her" was—but no one saw fit to refer to "her" by her name, and she did not question it.

"What'll we do with the rogues?"

The question was Rainfell's. The other warriors looked away, as if bothered by the question. It was meant for Wolfshadow.

She could not conceive why. "Kill them, of course," she replied. Shock flashed in their eyes, and again she was dumbfounded. "They'll be back, you _know_ they will. You think they'll just give up and say, 'You win'?"

One of the SeaClan warriors spoke up—a senior warrior, rugged and marked with ancient scars. "They… they were…" He glanced at Rainfell, but the deputy's eyes were trained on Wolfshadow. "They were SeaClan once, Wolfshadow."

"And this matters why?" The sun seemed to take ages to inch across the gray sky, its warmth blocked by clouds foretelling rain. "They forfeit lives the day they left your Clan; they forfeit their honor as warriors when they kidnapped one of your own. Why?"

Rainfell finally stepped in. "Why don't we prepare for the attack? We haven't had the time to hunt. I'll show Wolfshadow around the hill, so she'll be more familiar with the place." She did not answer, determined to understand this new complication—until Rainfell added, "I'll tell you more about these… former SeaClan warriors."

* * *

"They were the oldest SeaClan warriors. Not old and brittle as the elders—still powerful cats. And they grew up here, in the old SeaClan camp, on the mainland." They circled the hill, and Wolfshadow inspected the more obvious spots where a rogue could be hiding, waiting to spring. "The camp was moved after a rival Clan slaughtered us in our sleep. The ancient elders would have us believe that we were as weak and trusting as we are today." Rainfell allowed a chuckle, although Wolfshadow could see that the subject was, to him, extremely serious. "In the aftermath, one of our warriors led a revolution. She proclaimed that she could not call herself a warrior without having had the training of a true warrior. And so she gave up her warrior name.

"She created an entire new training regimen for all the SeaClan warriors who followed her example. Legend says that StarClan themselves revealed long-lost battle techniques to her. And when the time came, she claimed her own warrior name: Stormfeather." Here Rainfell paused, lifting his gaze to the sky, as if he could see the stars of Silverpelt spread out in the vast expanse. "My mother."

Wolfshadow had never known her mother, other than her name and her powerful rank. She had been one of Galestar's closest elite, and because Wolfshadow had been born to such a gifted cat, she in turn had been chosen to be trained by Galestar himself. Other kits were normally trained by the batch, in groups headed by one warrior. She couldn't even recall her name, now that Rainfell had mentioned his own mother—it had started with _Ember_…

"The rogues we're fighting now were the first ones to have given up their old names, choosing to earn them anew. Nightfur was a young cat when the entire change occurred—but he was the one who proposed we move our camp to a safer place. The island." Wolfshadow had expected Rainfell to continue with the story of Stormfeather, but the name was not mentioned again. "That's why we can't just… kill them, Wolfshadow. They were the greatest warriors of their time. _That_ was why our Clan has weakened, Wolfshadow. Not just because we've softened—SeaClan has been living on that island only for the past few seasons; it can't be as sudden as that."

The sudden change in his mew—from the tale of the rogues' becoming, to the reason behind the current state of his Clan—caught her attention, and it bothered her. She had been so quick to judge SeaClan, yet the audacity of Stormfeather and her followers would have been admired by many of GloryClan. It even impressed _her_—the ability to recognize one's own weakness, and the courage to overcome that weakness to turn it into strength.

"It's late," Rainfell sighed. "Let's go on back to the others. I can't tire you out with old SeaClan tales." What was that look in his dark blue eyes? Nostalgia, longing? It was not a feeling familiar to GloryClan cats—but she had recognized it in the eyes of Sableclaw and Ferretstripe, the night they were reunited. Would Foxwind share that look, once she found him on the top of the hill? She did not dwell on it—it was best not to ask such questions.

* * *

_Your mother is a great warrior. I need no deputies to help me lead GloryClan—yet. But if I had one now, Emberwing would be the best candidate._ Galestar often gave her his insights on his own cats, and it was easy to see which ones he favored.

_Who's that cat over there? The one that keeps being chased away._ A ragged gray tabby she-cat could occasionally be seen at the edges of the main camp; many of the senior warriors did not bother her, but the cruelest chased her away, leaving lasting marks on her patchy fur. _Who is she?_

_That,_ snarled Galestar, _is Cinderpool. She was a proud GloryClan warrior once, as great as Emberwing. But she forfeit her life the day she bore a weakling's kits. See that young tom there?_ His thin tail snaked forward, gesturing to a well-built tom, his bright ginger fur easily marked from his surroundings. _That's her son. I can't quite recall his name. The only reason I let him live is because he can still be salvaged. Half of Cinderpool's blood is better than none at all._ _It's a good lesson, Wolfpaw. You're only as good as your blood. Now, why can't I recall that name…_

Galestar did not know his name, but she did. She had met him earlier that day, when he had interrupted her training session.

His name was Foxpaw.


	9. Sun

_A/N: This is by far the longest chapter; most of it consists of what I had thought of as the 'ending' before even dreaming up the characters you may now recognize as Wolfshadow, Foxwind, or Sableclaw (Heavens know, there's little enough about the latter two characters as it is...) Not sure about whether it came out as I expected or not; it was never a scripted event. Rather it played out in my head, each time including small changes. And I debated on where to place this silly note_—_perhaps it's too long-winded and explanatory? ...Oh well.  
_

**Chapter 8 - Sun**

She was alone in the darkness, clambering the skinny trees and sailing silently from branch to branch. Her sharp eyes could pick out the ghostly specters of rogues that marched from post to post in the abandoned camp, their eyes glowing like small embers in the night. She was the first one to venture up the hill to the camp; the other SeaClan warriors, as well as Rainfell, were to wait at the foot of the hill and distract the rogues while she pulled both the kidnapped apprentice and Foxwind out of the confusion.

_It would be easier to just kill them._ Wolfshadow tried to not let it bother her. Killing did have its benefits. Nature was not made to bow down, subservient; it roared up after each assault, vying for freedom despite all costs. After all, if she had killed Sablekit that day…

_You forfeit your life the day you let me live._ Sableclaw's words echoed to her, accompanying her in the dark as she peered through her cover of leaves, trying to find some sort of cave where a cat could be held prisoner. It was true, wasn't it? It was not her policy to allow survivors, but at the same time she knew.

She had seen Sablekit's eyes as he witnessed the murder of his father, leader of BirchClan; she had ripped out his nine lives before the entire Clan. As the leader lay bleeding his life out on the floor, young Sablekit had lunged at her, aiming for the throat. She caught him in midair, flinging him hard against the ground, and forced his muzzle to the dirt, facing his dying father. _Look at him,_ she had crooned in his ear. _Watch the light go out of his eyes. Do you see? That's how you know a cat is dead, little one. There is nothing for the weak but death._

_Nothing but death._ The gloom of the abandoned camp seemed like death. Rainfell's story of the SeaClan cats slaughtered here, in their sleep, had made it seem like a battlefield. There was no blood remaining on the dirt, yet Wolfshadow could imagine elders limping, kits fleeing, warriors dying…

There! It was easily recognized—a tunnel opening that permitted only one cat through at a time, guarded by a solitary warrior. No other caves or holes were in evidence; SeaClan cats slept in the open. The guard's black fur made his body nigh unrecognizable in the dark, but his orange eyes glowed brightly, and that was enough. Wolfshadow flexed her limbs, wanting to leap down from her perch and cut the guard's throat to force her way into the tunnel—but no, she had promised Rainfell that she could not murder any of the rogues. _Not if it can be avoided._

A yowl sounded from the camp entrance, and the rogue band rushed there in unison as the alarm was raised. Rainfell and the others had begun the attack, to distract them. The guard seemed reluctant to move from his post, but joined his comrades in a skirmish to meet the intruders; she slipped down and into the tunnel easily.

The tunnel was a long one, and her flanks brushed against the sides. Wolfshadow had always been slender; bulky cats could never fit through such a tunnel. Using her whiskers to guide the way, she raced onward, until the tunnel seemed to lighten, as if there were an opening on the other side. But there couldn't have been an opening—she had inspected the entire camp before entering the tunnel, and there was no evidence of it being an open tunnel. Yet… how could there be light in a hole?

The tunnel widened out before her, until she stepped gingerly into an entire chamber, roughly the size of a Clan leader's den. The moon was covered by thick clouds, but the dim light of the stars had illuminated the darkness somewhat. Even so she had to wait for her eyesight to adjust, to peer into the gloom and pick out… ginger fur.

"Foxwind?" She could definitely pick up Foxwind's scent, but it was weaker than the scent of another cat. "Is that you?"

"Look out!" The voice was not Foxwind's, but high-pitched, like that of a kit. "Above you!"

_How can anyone be above—_ Her thoughts were cut off as a heavy tom fell upon her from the sky, through the opening in the chamber ceiling. The tom had caught her by surprise, but while his reflexes were excellent, he did not attempt any killing moves; she wondered if his claws were even unsheathed. _Fool._ He was too strong to pin down on her own, and she had promised not to kill—but if she crippled him instead, leaving him unable to fight…

Wolfshadow's teeth sank into his forepaw, and although he howled in agony and jerked backwards, she held her grip and bit down—just as she had been taught in GloryClan. Teeth broke through the thin layer of skin and went on to penetrate muscle and shatter bone. A loud gasp followed the hollow crunch of the broken forepaw, a gasp from the young kit who had warned Wolfshadow of the assailant. The pain of the wound sent the tom reeling; he backed away, collapsing into the dirt, flanks heaving as he fought for breath to brace himself against the pain of his wound.

"A-Are you the shadow?" came the timid voice.

"You must be the SeaClan apprentice." Wolfshadow spat out blood, bits of bone, and fur. She could hardly see the apprentice; it was still too dark; she could only make out the frightened green eyes. "This is the only prison I saw… Was there another prisoner here? A ginger-furred tom, like you. Larger, with dark green eyes. His name is—"

"You're talking about Foxwind!" The name was a spring of hope, and Wolfshadow waited eagerly for the apprentice to continue. Her next words, however, were unexpected. "But—but he can't be here. He can't!"

Wolfshadow opened her mouth to question her, but sounds of the outside battle reached them, and she knew there was no time. Foxwind _had_ to be able to escape on his own, with all the rogues distracted. They could run back out of the tunnel, or…

"Hold on," she urged the apprentice, grabbing her scruff. She had never carried another cat before—that job she left to Foxwind and the other GloryClan warriors—but she had to try. Her greatest worry now was whether her teeth—the same teeth that had crunched through the rogue's leg—could be trusted in safely transporting this apprentice she had promised to save. "I'm taking you back home." After bracing her legs firmly against the ground, she flew into a leap that carried both her and the apprentice out of the chamber through the opening on the ceiling.

More rogues had come into the underground chamber, and prepared to follow them out. Wolfshadow dropped the apprentice on the floor gently, and hissed, "Run!"

They fled into the night, a night that slowly lightened at the break of dawn.

* * *

Wolfshadow had led the way for the escape, knowing that the apprentice was too young to find her way through the territory. Now, as they stood panting at the beach, waves lapping at the seashore, she could look at her charge. "There's your island there," Wolfshadow rasped. "We'll catch our breath and swim over." The apprentice looked grateful as she collapsed onto the sand. "But you need to tell me. How do you know Foxwind, if he wasn't kept prisoner with you?"

"He was never a prisoner," the young cat answered confusedly. "At least, I don't think there was another prisoner. Nightfur—he's the cat you… you fought. Nightfur always said that _you_ would come, and that I'd bring you." The young cat looked at her paws. "I know who you are. You're Wolfshadow. Foxwind was your friend."

"How do you know him?" she repeated. She did not know why—her patience had always been thin in interrogations—but instead of being angry, she felt tired. Tired of chasing after invisible hares.

"I saw you in a dream… and Sableclaw, and Ferretstripe, and everything." The apprentice seemed close to tears. "I know you didn't deserve it, Wolfshadow! Y-you were just trying to help everyone, even if you killed innocent cats!"

_It's impossible._ "And what didn't I deserve?" she demanded.

"You didn't deserve to have Foxwind die."

It took several moments for her to understand the cat's words. _Die? Foxwind didn't die_. "Simply a body," Ferretstripe had said. And StarClan, they had sent her to follow the sun to find Foxwind. Hadn't they? Hadn't they?

* * *

That tunnel had been too large for most cats; only the smallest cats—like the apprentice, taken prisoner—and Wolfshadow could fit. They could never have forced Foxwind through.

The opening in the prison chamber—any grown cat could have easily escaped. Only a young cat, barely a kit out of the nursery, would be unable to leap out of the hole.

Stonestar was uneasy about talking to her about Foxwind because _he didn't know who Foxwind was._ None of them did. Foxwind was just a name, nothing more. Brinewhisker the medicine cat knew the most about Foxwind not because her friend had confided in the medicine cat—but because Brinewhisker was able to converse with StarClan, find out the secrets of her friend.

Immediately she was back in StarClan's hunting grounds, with the cool plainsgrass and the warm breeze blowing through her fur—but nothing could comfort her rage. "You lied to me!" she screamed towards the cold stars. "You lied!"

No StarClan warriors appeared—even if they could not be killed, Wolfshadow was sure she would rip one to shreds. Ferretstripe's voice carried on the wind, a faint murmur on the breeze: _My brother killed that cat._

Lights played out before her, and glowing specters took the shape of ghostly cats: Ferretstripe, Sableclaw, and Wolfshadow. She remembered the scene. _Where's your ginger-furred fool?_ Sableclaw snarled at Wolfshadow. _That crowfood-eating cur?_

_Elsewhere._

_Come on out!_ Sableclaw commanded, to a friend hidden in the ferns. A tom dragged a body, large and ginger-furred…

"That was indeed Foxwind," Ferretstripe murmured—not the ghostly apparition in the memory that played out before them, but the StarClan warrior, crouching at Wolfshadow's side. "I did lie to you, Wolfshadow. But had I not, would you have left your prison?" She did not answer. "Like the young cat you saved. She could never have tried escaping on her own, even with the sky above her prison. Trapped by fear and anger."

"Shut up," Wolfshadow swore. "You had no right. I was a fool to trust you flea-ridden curs!" She turned on Ferretstripe, claws extended, but her legs seemed to give out underneath her; her vision blurred, marred with anger and despair. She swam dizzily, fighting to stay still, tearing the grass underpaw in a vain attempt to grip the earth. Before the world blacked out, she saw the familiar ginger fur, his green eyes shadowed with... what? Disgust? Sorrow? Pity? "You lied to me," she accused him dumbly—and then she was back in the waking world, still standing before the cringing young apprentice.

"What's your name?"

The young she-cat did not expect the question; she glanced up in surprise, and Wolfshadow could not help but marvel at the innocence reflected in those green eyes, painstakingly shy. _Green, like Foxwind's_. She whispered, "My name is Sunpaw."


	10. Fire and Sea

**Chapter 9 - Fire and Sea**

_Follow the sun. Sunpaw._ Wolfshadow stared at the apprentice dully, not knowing what to make of it. Was that why no one had bothered to tell her Sunpaw's name? The medicine cat's words came back to her: _You may be surprised, Wolfshadow…_

"Your island is there," she meowed angrily, whipping her tail towards the sea, painted orange by the rising sun. "I promised to bring you back safely to the Clan—"

"No!"

The cry seemed to surprise even Sunpaw. The apprentice looked away again, muttering an apology. "Look at me, Sunpaw," Wolfshadow commanded. When the apprentice did not comply, Wolfshadow considered using threat—but again something stayed her temper. The apprentice was so helpless, so pathetic; even Wolfshadow could not bring herself to waste the energy in despising her. More gently this time, Wolfshadow tried again: "I won't take you back to SeaClan if you don't want to go. But your Clan asked _me_ to bring you back. Can you tell me what's wrong?"

"Everything is wrong," came a deep, furious meow. The two cats whirled to face the intruder—it was Nightfur, the tom whose leg Wolfshadow had shattered in order to save Sunpaw. The tom limped on three legs; it was evident that he had not had any treatment for the fracture. "Tell her, Sunpaw," Nightfur spat. "Tell her what sort of worthless fleabags SeaClan truly are, Sunpaw. Tell her how they treated _you_."

"They didn't do anything!" Sunpaw protested, finally raising her voice in frustration. "I told you, SeaClan never—"

"You're seven moons old, well into the training of an apprentice." Nightfur's eyes were on Wolfshadow now, and they were gleaming in hatred—but Wolfshadow knew, somehow, that the hatred was not meant for her. "But you never set foot out of the island, did you? You were never given a mentor, were you?"

_So that's why_. That was why Sunpaw could never escape, even if she could somehow have made her way out of her prison. How could she? She was deep into a territory she had never seen; the only world she had known was the shelter of the island camp. From the look in Sunpaw's eyes, Wolfshadow knew Nightfur was not lying. "Why?" she demanded. "Why were you…" She paused, searching for the word. "Why were you treated differently?"

"I don't know!" Sunpaw cried helplessly. "No one told me anything!"

Finally Wolfshadow saw it. "You weren't born in SeaClan." It was not a question. How could she have missed it? SeaClan had dark pelts, brown and black and gray. In her search for Foxwind's pelt amongst the SeaClan cats, Wolfshadow knew that there was no other SeaClan warrior who possessed ginger fur. Sunpaw's green eyes were an oddity as well, in a sea of gold and blue. "Who is she?" The question was directed to Nightfur.

"Her parents were Ebonystar of SeaClan and Brightbreeze of FireClan."

"That's not true," Sunpaw repeated. "S-Stormfeather was my mother." Stormfeather, the legendary she-cat who had also mothered Rainfell. Wolfshadow narrowed her eyes—were the two cats kin? Sunpaw could have taken after her father's coloring, yet there was nothing to suggest that Rainfell was a sibling. Or did Rainfell not see her as a true sibling...?

Nightfur seemed to read Wolfshadow's mind. "No," he snarled. "Ebonystar brought one she-kit to camp, and no one knew who its parents were. No one questioned our leader—he was a great cat, rightfully so. Only when FireClan invaded us did we find out—Ebonystar had broken the warrior code with a FireClan warrior.

"When SeaClan found out, we were outraged. To have been driven out of our home for the sake of this halfClan scrap—nothing could be more humiliating. Only one cat didn't despise her for the blood flowing in her veins: Stormfeather. _She_ was the closest thing to a mother Sunpaw ever had. I don't blame Sunpaw for mistaking her as such."

Wolfshadow did not fancy the direction of the history lecture. Rainfell and the other SeaClan cats should have reached them by now; the confrontation could turn ugly. Yet Wolfshadow could not force Sunpaw back to the island, faced with Nightfur's revelation and the fear reflected in Sunpaw's eyes. They could not stand here all day, however. "Why did you kidnap her, Nightfur?"

The question seemed to surprise Nightfur. "A StarClan warrior told me," he growled; the name _StarClan_ sent Wolfshadow's fur bristling all over again. She didn't want to deal with StarClan ever again. "He told me how to save Sunpaw from the dogs of SeaClan."

"How?"

"By bringing you here." Nightfur looked up at the sky, clear and free of clouds—almost as if he could see the stars of Silverpelt stretching out before him. "He told me that Wolfshadow could protect the sun. I've heard the rumors, Wolfshadow. That you are Stormfeather come again—"

Whatever else Nightfur wanted to say was cut off as Rainfell appeared in the air above him, pouncing with a snarl: "Traitor!" Nightfur was older and more experienced, but with one forepaw shattered he could do nothing as Rainfell landed blow after blow. The other SeaClan cats appeared, covered in scratches from the skirmish with the other rogues. Sunpaw was wide-eyed, glancing frantically at a silent Wolfshadow; "Please, do something!" she begged, "they're killing him! Help him, Stormfeather!"

* * *

Rainfell had said, the night she had met him outside of camp: _You don't even know what the rumors say._ SeaClan did not correctly estimate the blood in Wolfshadow's past; Foxwind had never come here spreading tales of her destruction. But they _did_ speak tales of her coming. Some StarClan warrior—Foxwind, or Ferretstripe, or some other bloody cur—had prophesied her coming. Who did SeaClan welcome into their camp? Did SeaClan welcome Wolfshadow, deputy of GloryClan? Or did they welcome Stormfeather reborn, destined to do whatever impossible feats they expected her to fulfill?

"Stop."

The SeaClan cats took no heed, one holding down Nightfur while Rainfell ripped out tufts of the older warrior's fur with wicked claws...

_"I said stop!"_ They froze, blood staining their paws and muzzles, marking them as... what? Monsters? Vultures? SeaClan would not grant mercy to the rogues, nor Sunpaw for the crime of her birth... and Wolfshadow had been the same. _What is the life of one kit?_ she remembered telling Foxwind, during their younger moons. _Only the strong survive._ And yet she had changed, somehow, during the few suns of her journey to find Foxwind. "Go back to your island." When the cats still did not move, she took a step forward, unsheathing her claws. For a moment she was again Wolfshadow of GloryClan, ruthless destroyer of Clans. "Do you need a hint? _Go!_"

Rainfell was the last to join his mates in the sea; he looked back, and she could not decide the nature of her feelings as he threw one last gaze at her, over his shoulder. Did he truly see her as his long-lost mother? She was a warrior, a leader of cats. She _had_ to be, or... or...

Nightfur was dead. She was glad, though, to see that it was probably blood loss from the wounds she gave him; she didn't think she could ever bear to look at Rainfell again if he had been the one to deliver the blow that eventually killed the rogue. Sunpaw was not so collected; when she realized that the black tom was no longer breathing, she turned away, her tail twitching. Wolfshadow breathed in deeply; they could not stand here forever. "Sunpaw." The she-cat turned back, eyes stricken with grief and confusion. "My name is Wolfshadow. Not Stormfeather. And again, I won't force you to come with me."

She blinked. "I know." She looked at the unmoving mass of raggedy fur that had once been the living Nightfur. "But he... the rogues, they never hurt me. And Foxwind—there was... it was someone else—"

" Someone else? Didn't Nightfur take you because—" Wolfshadow paused when Sunpaw's eyes grew wide again. "What is it?" She opened her mouth to answer but no sound came out; her eyes seemed to bulge out at her—no, at something behind her...

Pain flashed before her as something took her from behind, shaking her roughly from the scruff as a dog might kill a rat. Flailing gave her paws no purchase; her limbs waved about wildly before the assailant finally dropped her, flinging her with a flick of its head. She regained her paws groggily, dimly thanking the stars that she landed in the soft sand of the beach rather than the hard gravel and boulders where real damage could have been inflicted. Her vision was clearing, and she could see the cat who had attacked her—a large tom from the looks of it, with sandy brown fur... Sunpaw was screaming at the side, but it was a while before Wolfshadow could make out what she was saying:

"_That's_ him, that's the one who killed Foxwind!"


	11. Bright Dawn

_A/N: Thank you to Sagewhisker for suggesting the name for Sandflight's sister. I literally stop typing on the spot whenever I need to even suggest the existence of a new character, because thinking of names is an utter pain. And thanks to all reviewers. :') Again._

**Chapter 10 - Bright Dawn**

"That's him, that's the one who killed Foxwind!"

The sandy tom's bright blue eyes rolled wildly towards her, jaws slavering. "Wolfshadow?" He took a lurching step forward. "You... you killed my sister." His eyes finally cleared for a heartbeat, only to be clouded yet again in the rage of hate. "You killed her."

Sunpaw shrank, her hind paws splashing into the sea at her back. The sea that had always kept her imprisoned, a silent beast that would destroy her should she ever set foot into its watery domain. "Who is he?" came Wolfshadow's snarl, facing the frothing monster. "Sableclaw killed Foxwind—didn't he?"

"H-he helped Sableclaw." Sunpaw clenched her eyes shut, trying to recall the memories of that other world. Wolfshadow's world. She saw Sableclaw whispering words, dark words, into the ear of this cat - a cat driven mad with grief over the death of his sister. His sister, yet another body in Wolfshadow's rampage. And Sableclaw had used him to help kill Foxwind... "He helped Sableclaw kill Foxwind. His name..." Why couldn't she remember the cat's name? Her legs were trembling, and it was not because of the cold waters that lapped at her paws. It was fear. _Stop being such a kit!_ She tried summoning up Stormfeather's face again for courage, but her friendly features kept melting away before her, melting into the cold hardness that was Wolfshadow. "Sableclaw called him Sandflight!"

At mention of his name, Sandflight's head jerked to Sunpaw's direction. "She killed Brightdawn," Sandflight howled, "my sister, Brightdawn!"

Wolfshadow seemed to recognize the name. "The rebellion leader..." she whispered. "Brightdawn was the cat who led those cats to rebel against us. And that same day, Sableclaw came and killed Foxwind."

"If Sableclaw couldn't kill you, then I know I can't too," blubbered Sandflight, "but he taught me. Oh yes, he taught me the only way to hurt you." His wild, stumbling course changed direction, from Wolfshadow to Sunpaw; he broke into a run now, and before Sunpaw understood what was happening, Sandflight was in the air, fangs bared in a frothing snarl…

When she opened her eyes, expecting a harsh blow that never came, she saw Wolfshadow in front of her instead, Sandflight's jaws buried in her fur. "Run," she snarled, ignoring the sharp fangs piercing the skin underneath that gray tabby pelt, "run back to the island!"

Sunpaw turned tail and ran, floundering in the foaming waves until the waters reached her belly fur. "I can't!" She backed away from the salty waters that pushed and pulled, trembling at the prospect of braving that crashing brine. She had never swam before, not even in the shallow pool on the island where the cats got their drinking water; when she was kidnapped, Nightfur had dragged her across with the sheer force of muscle and willpower. She was so pathetic! Not for the first time she berated herself silently, staring helplessly at the island that was so close and yet so far.

The fight had not started evenly; that first blow had given Wolfshadow a long gash along her shoulder, weeping scarlet tears that dyed her gray fur a dull, blackish red. From the foggy dreams Sunpaw had of Wolfshadow, the apprentice knew: Wolfshadow was never a strong cat. All her strength lay in her lightning-fast speed, quicker than a snake and twice as cunning—and her ruthlessness. She didn't know how to spare lives of enemies; Galestar's training had seen to that. But how could she fight this possessed tomcat, almost three times her size and raving mad, crippled as she was?

There it was—Wolfshadow cursed as she slipped on the wet gravel; she was being driven to the sea. For a second there was an opening as she stumbled, an opening that even a crazy cat like Sandflight should have seen. Yet as soon as Wolfshadow fell he turned towards Sunpaw, a grin stretched wide across his bloody muzzle. With a screech he flew at her; with a start she scrabbled at the pebbles in her haste to dodge, but the tom reached her before her paws could send her to safety. His claws pricked her thin orange fur; she opened her mouth to whimper, but no sound came out. Her hindlegs pummeled at his underbelly in vain. "Send my love to Brightdawn," Sandflight spat, drawing back his unsheathed paw to plunge them through her chest, to pierce her heart…

Blood splattered Sunpaw's face, warm against the freezing seawater soaking her pelt. Her ears rang as Sandflight roared in agony, pawing at his eyes—no, not his eyes; what _used_ to be his eyes. His face was a bloody ruin, his eyes clawed to the point where no miracle of StarClan could ever restore them. The blinded tom wheeled around, unable to distinguish the individual scents of Sunpaw and Wolfshadow among the blood and the seawater.

Sunpaw did not cringe as Wolfshadow ignored the blinded monster and padded—no, limped—to her instead. She had never seen the blood of a warrior until that very morning when Wolfshadow ripped past her captor to rescue her—and here was this she-cat, her fur literally bathed in crimson, her claws slicked in red, approaching her.

This cat had saved her life. Again.


	12. Shadow of the Sun

_A/N: Yes, the final chapter to Shadow of the Sun. It was glued to the previous chapter, but I decided to lop it in half - not due to length, but... eh... Just seemed a little TOO long-winded. Which is the only reason this was uploaded mere hours after the previous chapter. ^^; Thank you so much, all readers and reviewers. It's not the best story out there, yes - but I've always wanted to finish this story, instead of giving up halfway. Your reads and comments have made all the difference.  
_

**Chapter 11 - Shadow of the Sun  
**

Wolfshadow spat to the side; blood flecked the surrounding stones as she cleared her throat. "Go back to SeaClan," she rasped. "Just go back."

What did she feel, as she looked upon her bloody savior? Disgust? Horror? Fear?

"I'll tell them to stop treating you like dirt." Wolfshadow turned to the sky, closing her eyes—almost as if she were willing the clouds above to darken and spill the clean waters that might wash away all evidence of the short but violent fight. "They won't dare to refuse."

Pity? Compassion?

Her amber eyes turned to pleading now. "Will you go back, if…" Wolfshadow sighed, defeated. Her next words were almost too quiet to hear, amongst the howling of Sandflight behind them as the cat crashed into rocks and branches. "If I join SeaClan with you?"

Hope? Admiration?

After the first strained words, the next ones seemed to spill out of Wolfshadow like a flood, or a confession. "I'll protect you," she snapped, "protect you from Rainfell and Stonestar and Sandflight. You _have_ to go back."

Sunpaw said nothing—could not say anything, as emotion choked her breath away. She looked up at Wolfshadow, and in that split second memories raced through her head—memories sharper than anything she experienced in her strange dreams. Cinderpool, the warrior condemned for choosing 'weaker' cat as a mate, lost everything in order to bear a single kit: Foxpaw. Foxpaw, who did not enjoy the status that Wolfpaw enjoyed for being born to the great she-cat Emberwing. Wolfpaw had never taken their differences in birth too seriously—and neither did Wolfshadow. But Foxwind's death had forced Wolfshadow to face those evils of GloryClan rule. Why did she ever believe Galestar's foxdung theory of breeding, that strong cats could only be born of strong blood?

_She knows being halfClan doesn't make me weak or stupid. _But…

_You just discovered that I'm not Foxwind. He died a long time ago. I'm just a weak, frightened kit who doesn't know how to hunt or fight. Why would you join the cats who lied to you, for my sake?_

As if Wolfshadow could hear those inner thoughts, she sighed: "I know he's dead, Sunpaw. Nothing will change that." She finally glanced back at Sandflight, who had given up; he panted for breath weakly in the near distance, wheedling helplessly. "Not even by killing _him._ But this is what he would have wanted. For someone else to live free from the clutches of birth."

A mere hint of a breeze tickled Sunpaw's ear fur. Someone was beside her—invisible to their eyes, yet she could feel the presence of the StarClan cat as he leaned close to her. "She doesn't know," the voice whispered. Automatically Sunpaw knew: it was Foxwind. "Maybe she'll never know—but _you_ have to. For my sake."

Time seemed to freeze as Sunpaw saw more memories—memories of Foxwind, this time. Of his mother, Cinderpool—but no, something was wrong. Flashes of lightning, rain soaking her fur to the skin. An orange-furred she-cat, her belly distended from the kitting she had undergone only moments before, was carrying a squeaking ginger kit—Foxkit. They approached another she-cat, recently kitted with only one skinny kit to show for it. The she-cat—Cinderpool—looked up in fear, covering her weak kit with her tail, as if that limp length of waterlogged fur could protect the pathetic scrap snuggled against the curve of her belly.

_Are you going to report me to Galestar, Emberwing?_

A shake of the head: _No. _

_Then why?_

_To show the world that blood is nothing._ Emberwing set Foxkit down gently, and he blinked uneasily at the rain droplets that fell, neverending. _I'll take your kit—Galestar won't dare touch any kit I claim as mine._ She flashed a hesitating glance at her own kit, who had inherited her orange fur and green eyes. _And you'll take Foxkit. I know… I know he'll be strong enough not to get himself killed._

There were no words from Cinderpool—only a look of hope, shining through the clouds of fear. _Do you… do you really think my Wolfkit can become great? Even if Galestar thinks her blood tainted? _No audible reply from Emberwing—only a look of sadness, as the two mothers looked at their newborns, touching noses. They could not dream that these two kits, switched at birth, would become inseparable.

"Why did you show me?" Sunpaw cried in the darkness of the rain. "Foxwind, tell me!" She knew Wolfshadow was still waiting for her to reply, but what did Foxwind expect her to do? Tell Wolfshadow? Tell her that it wasn't _Foxwind_ who was born to poor Cinderpool? Would she still join SeaClan with Sunpaw as her protector, walking as her living shadow?

Sunpaw blinked. She was back, standing before Wolfshadow with the sea at her back and the sun shining strong overhead. Whatever clouds threatened to dim its light had retreated, dissipating before her own growing confidence. She knew now, as she looked at this she-cat who had done everything possible chasing an impossible dream, that it was love she felt. Love for a hero, love for a mother.

Foxwind's memories. Wolfshadow would know, someday, of the truth of her own birth. But Sunpaw knew—even if Wolfshadow knew the truth, she would still protect her. This wasn't a cold, calculating cynic of a she-cat; she had always been—and always would be—that merciful, ambitious warrior who defied destiny with one simple, easy act: sparing the lives of those like Ferretstripe and Sableclaw. Foxwind showed Sunpaw because he wanted her to know to appreciate this weary killer, to be in awe of the challenges she had triumphed. He didn't need to, of course. But she loved them both—these cats she had known only through hazy dreams—all the same.

"Yes," she whispered. There was nothing half so wonderful as seeing that battered, scarred face of Wolfshadow brighten with the slightest hint of joy. With one word she was no longer that cold-blooded murderer, dealing punishment to innocents in Sunpaw's dreams. She would be a shadow, yes—but not a choking, suffocating shadow of death. She would be the shadow of the sun, always close by to protect her from those who saw fit to persecute her. And she was her friend. "Yes, I'll go—with you."

**End**

**

* * *

**_A/N: For the kind souls interested:  
_

I'm thinking of writing sequels—well, no, not sequels. Definitely standalone stories, maybe even oneshots; one would not have to have read Shadow of the Sun to understand them. As I believe I messaged one reviewer, this story was a strange mix-up of three other ideas I had for separate fanfictions:

1. The story of Sableclaw, who—with the help of a mysterious cat who walks in his dreams, who shows him all of GloryClan's standard fighting techniques—lives to wreak vengeance on Wolfshadow, who killed everyone in his Clan (excluding him and his mentally unstable mother). It includes Brightdawn and Sandflight—Brightdawn being a gifted rebellion leader against GloryClan, an idealistic version of Wolfshadow—an example of how similar cats walk different paths.

2. The story of Stormfeather, the cat that Wolfshadow seems to represent for many SeaClan cats. After SeaClan is devastated by an attack, she paves the way for the future by revoking her warrior name and taking an apprentice name, vowing to train herself until she could be fit to protect the Clan as a true warrior. She has conflicting opinions about Sunkit, who is of mixed Clan parentage, because her mother comes from the very Clan that murdered Stormfeather's closest friend during the attack that drove SeaClan to the island. It includes Rainfell, explains why Nightfur turns rogue, as well as Stormfeather's fate—why she was not present in SeaClan at the time of Wolfshadow's journey.

3. The story of Foxpaw, born into a lesser branch of GloryClan, who chances to befriend Wolfpaw—a cold and distant young cat, trained by the bloodthirsty Galestar to become the perfect killer. A simple backstory of sorts to Wolfshadow and Foxwind.

Now, this isn't quite a "Which story to write first" question—I want to attempt to write all three at once (Maybe because I'll probably forget details if I put too much time inbetween the stories, which are set in the same universe; I already see a few plot holes in Shadow of the Sun, and don't have any wish to encounter any more of them). If there are any readers who care to read further, though—I ask that they step forward and say which plot sounds the most interesting to read. :)

Thank you again everyone—and yes, especially you, **It's a maze of jaffas**., For the reviews that are the lifeblood of my paltry motivation. I hope to hear your words again soon on hopeful future installments. :) - dragonFELL


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